The Hall
by Scotch-Mist
Summary: A little minx is up to her old tricks...The Being Human characters belong to Toby Whithouse.


**This one-off story is inspired by a suggestion from SunnyFla about one of the supporting characters in my other story The Seer. Originally just meant to be a 'recruitment' scene, it's expanded mainly due to Sunny's encouragement, and discussions on the Blog about a couple of the Being Human characters. With humble thanks to Saint, Topo, Snowy and others on the Blog for a discussion on a 'little madam'…**

**The Hall**

**1594 – Lincoln**

He'd fallen for her. Literally fallen for her in Lincoln market. He'd sent her flying, not looking where he was going as usual. She was carrying a basket full of bread; he was carrying some of his work tools. He'd stepped back to look up at the cathedral, his eye searching for anything out of place. His foot had slipped in the muck on the street and he'd flown backwards, landing on the poor girl, sending the bread flying.

"Oh don't mind me."

He hadn't realised she was underneath him.

"Sorry." He turned to find blue eyes and brown-hair, and the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. Just a little thing, he had to be a foot taller than her. They were both covered in muck, but that was it for him. He helped her up.

"James Harper."

"That's nice." He went to pick up the bread.

"Don't bother. I don't think anyone will want it do you?" She started to pick up his tools, and then laughed.

"Look at me. This dress was clean on too. My mother will have my guts for garters." She turned to go.

"Wait." She stopped.

"You didn't give me your name." She smiled again.

"No I didn't James Harper. You'll find it out if you want to see me again." She'd left him with that, knowing he was watching as she walked away.

"The little…"he thought, but she'd hooked him. He'd found out her name from one of the stall holders. Rebecca Grant. He'd been at her door within the hour, once he'd found out where she stayed, to apologise again. She'd been expecting him. A month later he'd asked her mother for her daughter's hand. She'd told him, "If Bec's taken with you, she's taken with you. Make her happy."

He had asked her on a rare day off from the cathedral, sitting her down, telling her his prospects, he'd finished his apprenticeship, he was a 'proper' stonemason now, the little house that came with his job…told her he had no family, he was an orphan. She'd placed her hand on his and said, "It doesn't matter, me and Mum are your family now. You'll do for me." They'd been married a year, happy in the little house by the cathedral, until her mother had been taken by a fever. Rebecca had never really settled after that, when the offer of a place at Marsham Hall came, he'd jumped at it, there was an excellent chance to improve their prospects, and they needed a housekeeper as well. It seemed like God was smiling down on them again.

1595 – Marsham Hall

It was a beautiful house, half-timbered, not long built, with large grounds, plenty of fresh air, and greenery all around. The perfect place to bring up children, if they were blessed this year. The peace and quiet took some getting used to after the bustle of Lincoln. Something always needed done. They'd been promised one of the new cottages James was to build, until then they had comfortable quarters above the stable, up a stone staircase at the side. The family were good employers too; they cared about their staff, not like many. The family had married well, one to a Lord, another to the heir to a dukedom. They were on their way now. There was talk of looking for a London place as well. There were rumours of new found riches in Cornwall, copper or was it silver, on land the family had forgotten it owned. Apparently it would have to be shared with someone for some reason, but there would still be plenty for the family to gain a higher status. A huge banquet was to be held to celebrate the latest wedding.

The soft knock at the door was unexpected. The coach was unfamiliar to the Hall's staff, except to the master. He'd been dreading it. It was time to pay the price.

Rebecca opened the door to the surprise guest. A well-dressed dark-haired man stood, an equally well-dressed young girl stood beside him. A couple stood just behind them, their clothes not quite as fine, but still smarter than anything she or James had.

"Sir?"

"Are Mr and Mrs Howitt at home? I know we aren't strictly expected today, but we were in the county…"

"What name should I give, sir?"

"Wyndam. He'll know the name." He smiled at her but there was something not…

"Sir, if you'd like to wait in the Great Hall, I will see if…"

"Oh Mr Wyndam," the mistress was coming down the stairs, "oh it's so good to see you again. Where was it?" The man was smiling again.

"London, madam. At Eltham Palace."

"Of course. Rebecca, what are you thinking of, stand aside. Mr Wyndam…" she gave the gentleman her hand, he smiled and stepped over the threshold. Rebecca felt a shiver, the gentleman turned to look at her for a moment, then turned his gaze back to her mistress.

"Oh and who is this?" Mrs Howitt's eyes were on the young girl.

"My name is Hetty. Please may I come in?" The London accent was a little strong, it didn't fit with her bearing.

"Oh such manners, Mr Wyndam. She's not your daughter is she?"The gentleman looked down, benevolently, at Hetty.

"Alas madam, no. She is my charge. A sad story." The child looked up at Mrs Howitt with big, sad eyes.

"An orphan." He stage- whispered it, as though it was something that shouldn't be spoken about in front of the girl.

"Oh but such lovely manners. Of course you can come in, Hetty." She leant forward to kiss the child on the forehead. The child took it as a sign to hug Mrs Howitt, and she entered the house. She turned as soon as she did.

"Can Mr and Mrs Stephens come in too?"

"Eh…yes. Please come in." The couple stepped forward as one, past Rebecca. She had felt the same shiver again as the girl stepped past her. It wasn't a cold day either, she thought. Odd.

Mrs Howitt led the party into the Great Hall.

"Is my husband expecting you, Mr Wyndam?" The man was gazing round the room; his eyes missing nothing, the family had done well…

"I did send word that I would be in the region. I believe a week's stay was mentioned. A little matter of business to be dealt with."

She spotted Rebecca standing. "Rebecca, Mrs Harper," she'd remembered they were now in company, "please fetch my husband and see about some rooms for our guests."

A hastily-arranged dinner was laid on for the family and their guests. The master was looking as though something had disagreed with him; he kept looking warily at Mr Wyndam, while the child spoke to him and his wife.

"He found me on the streets, sir." Wyndam's eyes were watching her closely. Not that far from the truth, he thought. She changes her story every time. Now he's the one who found her, it was Andrew last month, next it'll be Louisa's turn. The sooner she was bundled off the better. It's not all her fault, being so young when she was turned has meant she has had no real stability; she seems locked into that teething stage. Staying forever a child means a constant risk of exposure if she isn't moved on regularly. It'll have to be a vampire guardian this time; she kills the human ones if they displease her. The vampire ones might last a little longer. Then again…She shouldn't have been made. Children don't come back…right. What was she now, forty-something? What was that ridiculous woman saying now?

"I was just saying my husband and I are so grateful for your assistance with our _'difficulty'_.

Difficulty, that was one way of putting it. "Think nothing of it," _I won't,_ "I had people nearby, I was only glad to help." Mr Howitt seemed to choke on some food at just that moment. Wyndam just smiled.

"I take it your daughter has recovered?" He had taken quite a draught from her, but they had wanted her back in one piece, and marriageable. She might have to wear long-sleeves for a while to hide the bite mark but…Her lover was another matter entirely… His kind was very good at solving difficulties, for a price. Several served at Court, discreetly of course.

"Oh yes sir. She married Sir Robert last week. As arranged." The woman was beaming; her husband was looking put-out. As well he should Wyndam thought. His agent had 'asked' for a share in their 'good luck' in Cornwall. And the man had just been reminded what would happen if he reneged on the deal. A little accident, perhaps a fall on the stairs or from his horse on the way home…maybe even a little poison…that was Louisa's favoured method. A few words in the wrong ear, no violence involved, it often worked out much more neatly, for all concerned. The family could afford it; his kind needed money, property and privacy. A fine transaction for all sides. What was Hetty doing now?

"Hetty?" Her eyes were on the young housekeeper, who was doing her best to look every which way but at her. She was pretty but not Hetty's usual…plaything. He was normally the one who made others uncomfortable, usually intentionally, but the woman was deeply nervous of Hetty.

_"Pull your fangs in child!"_ She turned with her best angelic expression on her face.

_"I'm not a child, and they aren't showing."_

_"Not the real ones Hetty."_ She nodded. Not a word spoken but well understood.

"Are you only able to stay a week, Mr Wyndam?"

"Yes madam." He was going to enjoy her husband's table, the one thing he can't stand is a hypocrite and the man in front of him was a fine example.

Rebecca and James were curled up in their cosy quarters. She was still a bit nervous about the girl.

"You didn't see them. The child…the man is…different. There's something not quite right with any of them…I mean he's perfectly charming but…"

"You are being soft Bec. I don't think our employer was too pleased to see them but he's probably thinking about his purse-strings, what with the wedding and the banquet. Come here," he pulled her to him. "You just smile and say nothing. They are only to be here a week. At least they're not like the Giffords…"

"Thank god. The husband had wandering hands. Stupid old fool."

"Oh did he?"

"Well he did until I poured his own chamber-pot over them…"

"That's my lass! Now I seem to remember that we don't have to be up early tomorrow…"

"No we don't. And the answer's yes, you daft lump. What are you waiting for, _Christmas?"_

James was still wearing a glazed smile the next morning. They didn't get much time to themselves so they had to make the most of it. He walked into his workshop to find the gentleman Rebecca had been so unnerved by. He was picking through James' tools, lifting them as if to test their weight. He spun round when he heard James, a faint guilty look on his face.

"Can I help you sir?" said James. He seemed normal enough to him, Bec's just a bit nervy with strangers, he thought. The way she'd gone on you'd have thought the Devil himself was at the Hall.

"Oh no. I'm just being inquisitive. Edgar Wyndam." He stretched out his hand for James to shake. "James Harper, sir." No one usually noticed him, he wasn't important.

"Ah, Mrs Harper's husband I take it?" James nodded.

"I must apologise. I think my charge gave her a bit of a turn last night. She can be a bit…intense sometimes. She doesn't mix well in company. She needs younger people around her. A sad little soul, but we must make do and mend." He turned back to James' tools.

"I understand you worked on the Minster?" James bristled with pride.

"Yes sir, and on Lincoln Cathedral. They were reluctant to let me go in Lincoln…" his voice trailed off, the man Wyndam was smiling.

"A shame you're here then. I saw the carving you did in the Great Hall. Your employers are very lucky to have your skills. Never been tempted to go to London? Plenty of churches and fine houses there." And plenty of sites to dispose of the bodies too, he thought.

"Never been sir. I'd like to go but my wife doesn't like to travel. Her family were local so…" The man was watching him closely. His eyes were shrewd; he wouldn't miss much, reckoned James.

"I'd like to see the Abbey though. I like to work with marble. There's St Paul's too…"

"Fine buildings," said Wyndam. "Not really that religious," he said it in a whisper, his eyes were gleaming as he said it.

"I prefer the Tower. Been in various parts…over the years…a lot of blood in those walls…a lot of history." He smiled at James again.

"A few old friends passed through those walls. Some didn't make it out." He sighed. "My place could probably do with a little improving. I don't get back there that often. It's still standing; at least I think it is. It had better be. I suppose that's the sign of a good craftsman, is it not Mr Harper?" He looked back at the tools for a second. "We'll need to see about getting you to London, an introduction or something. Plenty of opportunities for such a skilled craftsman. Please tell your wife not to take any notice of 'little madam Hetty'. She'll grow out of it one of these days." He shook his head as he walked away. That or she'll end up staked, he thought to himself.

James couldn't understand why Rebecca had felt so uneasy. The man was a little bit strange, in addressing him the way he had, but he'd apologised for the child's behaviour. And being an orphan couldn't be easy for any child, he knew all about that. She was being too hard on the little thing. Unusual, because she was normally the one who was too soft, too forgiving. The type to say sorry for no reason at all. She'd taken against the child for some reason though. They are only to be here for a week, he thought, how much trouble can happen in a week?

Hetty was plaguing Rebecca. Wherever she went, Hetty was there too. She'd made her get the toys out of the attic, not that she was playing with them. She pulled at Rebecca's skirts, her hair. Asking her all kinds of questions. "How long have you been married? Do you like him? Do you love him? Do you have any children?" "Not yet." Rebecca had tried to move away from the child, but she kept on at her. "Why not?" She wasn't sure herself, she was damned if she was going to discuss this with a child, a guest or not she was a pest. "Wouldn't you like a baby? Would you like a boy or a girl?" Then she said the strangest thing Rebecca had ever heard; "I can get you either. They are easy to get. _They can't run away._" Rebecca shivered; it was as though someone had just walked over her grave.

"Hetty!" The shout was terse. It was that gentlemen Mr Wyndam. "Stop pestering Mrs Harper, I'm sure she has enough to do without having to put up with you as well." What had she done now, she must have said something to the woman, she was even more nervous now than she was the other night. Her eyes were looking down, away from Hetty; her heart was beating faster by the second.

"Het-ty?" He was looking at her with that look of ice.

"Sorry, sir." Hetty looked up at him with her most put-upon 'poor me' face. "Sorry Mrs Harper. I must learn better manners." The woman nodded her head, eyeing them cautiously. She moved off, anxious to be anywhere but in this room. Hetty turned to Wyndam, the stern look was still on his face.

"Oh come on Wyndam, I'm only teasing her. I am_ meant_ to be a child. I'm only _playing_."

"The strange thing is your playtime usually ends with a very bloody mess among the toys, and several bodies to clear away. Behave yourself." He pointed his finger at her as he said it. She knew that look, time to pull the claws in Hetty.

Just as he had smoothed things over too. Right, his best "I'm so sorry face." He called after Rebecca, finding her in the Great Hall. "Mrs Harper? Madam, if my charge has upset you, again, I am very sorry. She's…difficult. We all have our crosses to bear, I'm afraid Hetty is one of mine. I will do my best to keep her away from you for the rest of our stay. She's easily bored, needs distraction. I'm looking for a new guardian or governess for her, perhaps that will help settle her down. I don't suppose you know of any respectable older woman who could…" Rebecca was thinking a gaoler would be more appropriate, that or locking her away in the attic until she's twenty-one. There was a faint trace of a smile on the gentleman's face, as though he knew what she was thinking, but she pushed it away. That would be ridiculous…"Thank you for being so understanding Mrs Harper." He turned as if to leave the room. "Your husband is fortunate to have you." She could just see James out of the window, talking to a stranger. Wyndam's attention was drawn to the window also. "Ah. That'll be a message for me, I think. I recognise the messenger. Madam." He bowed his head, still smiling as he left. Rebecca was reassured, a least a little, he wasn't such an ogre, what was she thinking? But that child…is just a child. An annoying one, but…you are letting your imagination run wild Bec…

James was trying to make conversation with the messenger, but the man was having none of it. "I need to see Mr Wyndam," was all he could get out of him. "Speak of the Devil," joked James. The man looked at him strangely as Wyndam came towards them.

He nodded at James, "Mr Harper," then turned his attention to the messenger. "Sir…" the man was looking at James who took the hint. "I'll just be off Mr Wyndam," he said and he walked away from the two, towards his workshop.

"I was to put this into your hands, sir." The messenger handed him a sealed letter. Wyndam opened it and read it, rolling his eyes as he did so.

"Fine. I'll deal with it. They know the price, I take it?"

"Yes sir."

"Tell Mrs Stephens to keep an eye on the little madam, she's in one of her moods. She is not to let her out of her sight, is that clear Matthews? That husband of her's can make himself useful; he can take his turn to watch her as well. Oh and make my excuses to the owners. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Yes sir." Matthews went on to the house, Wyndam turned back to the stable to fetch a horse.

Later that night, James and Rebecca were having their quick dinner in the Hall's kitchen, the family and their guests were still at the table. She got up and went over to make sure the door was closed before sitting back down.

"I don't like that child." James just sighed.

"Hush," he reached out for her hands.

"She has strange eyes," she insisted, "they don't fit with the rest of her."

"Bec, you're…you're just tired."

"Oh don't you dare talk down to me…" she pulled her hands away from his. She lifted her plate away, throwing the food in the scraps bin. "Everywhere I turn, she's there…"

"She's lonely. Her guardian, or whatever he is, had to go at short notice. There are no other children here who are her own age…"

Rebecca actually snorted. "Children! That one's been here before, I tell you. 'Little madam Hetty'!"

"Come on Bec," he came round behind her, pulling her into a hug. "She'll be gone with the rest of them soon. Then everything will be fine again, and you'll be moaning about having to get the place ready for the banquet…come on," he was smiling that melted her.

"I know…I know…I don't take against anyone usually, but…" she was smiling herself now.

"Go and help Tilly clear away, and make your excuses. You're looking paler than usual; they'll let you off for once. I'll clear away in here. And ignore the little viper." He slapped her backside as she let go of him. She swung back for him but she missed.

"You bugger James Harper! I'll get you back for that!"

"No chance!" He had managed to make her laugh at least tonight. He would try to find things to do inside the house tomorrow, give her a hand.

Just after lunch the next day, Rebecca was in the kitchen peeling vegetables when Hetty bounded in. "Hello Mrs Harper!" Rebecca actually jumped at the sound of her voice, the knife slipped in her hand and cut into her hand. "Ouch!" Hetty grabbed her hand.

"Oh I don't like blood, do you?" Hetty ran her finger down Rebecca's palm. "Ooh that's deep! I'll get you a cloth." Rebecca didn't see Hetty behind her back, licking the blood off her fingers, or the gleam of plotting in her eyes either. She handed Rebecca a clean piece of cloth. "Thank you." She said it curtly to Hetty and turned away. "I'd better go. Mrs Stephens worries about me. Honestly, she says I'll be the death of her! As if!" She ran for the door, and slammed it behind her. Odd child, thought Rebecca, she let me alone very quickly. Hetty was noticeable by her absence for the rest of the day. She sat like a perfect angel at the dinner table. She was like a different child, but her eyes still had a strange shine to them. A few more days and they are gone…keep thinking that, Bec, she told herself. She even ended up playing a game of hide and seek with Hetty later that night. Not long now and she's gone…

She didn't know that Hetty had surprised James in his workshop that afternoon.

"Mr Harper, I'm bored. May I play in here?"

No Miss Hetty. Too many sharp objects." She had been about to argue when a queer look came into her eyes. It was gone just as quick but James swore he could see her mind working. For the first time he felt the same unease Bec had been feeling, but he reasoned it away.

"Oh well. I know all about sharp objects. Don't like pointy, sharp objects." She laughed.

"I don't think Mr Wyndam would like you playing in here either. It's not safe for children Miss." That annoyed her. "I'm not a…" she took a breath, "yes Mr Wyndam knows best. Well he usually does…he's very strict…Do you have any family?"

"No just me and my wife now." A woman's voice called from the yard.

"Hetty, where are you?"

"Blast that woman! You'd swear I was five years old the way she carries on. I'd better keep her sweet…" Her accent was more pronounced, how she had ended up with Mr Wyndam, James had no idea. The rich had their foibles, maybe it was just Christian charity that had made him take her on, he didn't know. But Bec was right; she was older than her years…

It was James' turn to check the Hall was secure that night. Rebecca had already gone up to the rooms over the stable, she was probably fast asleep, he thought. He'd checked the windows and was about to cross the yard to the stable, when he saw a faint light on in the workshop. That wasn't right, he'd blown the candles out when he had left for the night, and he was sure. He opened the door. A single candle sat on the bench; something wasn't quite right with the scene. He saw a child's toy on the floor of the workshop, a cup and ball set. He bent to pick it up, thinking the child's just been playing, when the handle of his best hammer smashed down on the back of his head, and he fell to the ground.

He could hear voices in the dark.

A woman's; "I don't think Mr Wyndam would…"

"He's not here. I'm the oldest here. You will do what I say…I'll let you have some…" Was that…?

"I'll have to take you too. He'll be fine with it once you're one of us. Two of us, I should say. You first, I want to make sure she comes to me."

He was passing in and out. He felt a sharp pain, and then he passed out again. He heard a scream…was that Bec? No…got to warn her…she was right…the girl…He can't move, he's so weak, is he dying? "Rebecca." Where was he? He was in the kitchen, at the foot of the stairs. How did he get here? He had a strange taste in his mouth. She was holding him in her arms. He could hear her voice, "What did they do to you? James?" but he was finding it hard to understand her. "Get away…get away…" he was forcing the words out. The little demon was back.

"Good. You're here." He felt Rebecca pull back from him, trying to get to the open door, but she slipped…was that his blood? He saw her fall and her head hit the stone floor. She was gone. The fury of the child, the black eyes, she was raging. She kicked him.

"What...how...no! Come back!" She shook Rebecca, but Rebecca's eyes were set, she was gone...His Bec.

"What the hell? HETTY!" Wyndam was at the door, his eyes took in James, half-alive, half-dead, the livid bite marks on his throat and wrist, then flashed onto Rebecca's body on the floor. He marched over to Hetty, and threw her back against the wall.

"You said I could have a new guardian..."the demon actually had tears in her black eyes...

"Yes but not like this. You have to...not people who'll be missed. You don't just...you do not bite the hand that feeds you. Get to your room now." She got to her feet.

"...but Wyndam, sir," she was trying to placate him.

"Get...out...of...my...sight...now..."

It was the ice-cold tone and the dead stare that did it, she froze and slowly started to back away from him her head down.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

She was the one terrified now, he would stake her, and she'd seen him do it before, when the temper raged. She stole silently away up the stairs.

He looked between Rebecca and James, and walked slowly over to where she lay. He crouched down beside her, gently pulled her body into position, and closed her eyes with his left hand. She could almost be sleeping...

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sure she would have been a fine recruit."

James' mind was racing now, he knew what they were, in York there had been a rumour, he forced his thoughts. "Bring her...bring her back..." he stammered the words out.

The look on Wyndam's face was remote. He rose and came over to James. He bent down and James grabbed him with what little strength he had left. "Please, I don't care, bring...her back..."

"I can't. She's too far gone." Was there a trace of pity there, James wasn't sure.

"The little madam's given you her blood. Your heart is stopping. You can come into this new life on your knees, or you can choose to survive. Her death will not be in vain then." His tone was calm and measured.

James' eyes were drawn to a figure that shouldn't be there. His Bec was there, it had to be her spirit. She was looking shocked and worried. A door had appeared by her, she was looking at it with fear.

"I'd advise you to take your door, Mrs Harper. You can't help him now. He will be one of our kind shortly. He will be looked after." Wyndam was speaking to the figure that shouldn't be there, he was able to see her too, thought James. The terrible fear in Bec's eyes. "He _will_ be looked after. Do you want him to _live?_" murmured Wyndam. She nodded her head; the tears were streaming down her face, all the dreams gone, for the sake of a spoilt demon of a child. He turned to James.

"Do you want her trapped? If she doesn't go on now she will be trapped here, her soul won't cross over. Choose now, you don't have much time, either of you." He stepped backfrom them and turned away. Rebecca moved over to James, her touch was gentle, but icy. She was holding him, but he could barely feel her, he was so cold himself.

"I'm...sorry" She tried to speak, but she wasn't strong enough. She stroked his face, kissed him; it was like the touch of a feather. She looked up at Wyndam.

"He's one of us now. We look after our own." He said it softly. She nodded, her eyes so sad, she knew, and it was too late. She went over to the door. It was a plain oak door, with a metal ring for a handle. She opened the door; there was a bright white light behind it. She looked back once. She was saying something. James couldn't make out what it was.

"She's saying goodbye," said Wyndam.

A second and she was gone, the bright light framing her for a moment. Wyndam moved over to James. "You're fighting it. Let it go. The pain, the sadness. Let it all go." James' eyes were so heavy, he wanted the dark, and he never wanted to feel anything again. "You may get your wish, Mr Harper. Let go." His eyes closed, leaving Wyndam with two problems: a dead body, and a 'sleeping' recruit. All for that little...she should never have been made...

James came round with a gasp. He was in their quarters above the stable. The 'man' was sitting beside him. He'd been sitting with him since he'd been moved back here, waiting for him to come back from there. James had come back quicker than most, which wasn't always a good sign. "There was...why did I...I didn't see her...they lied...she wasn't bad..."

Wyndam's voice was soft. "It's alright. She'll have gone on. Her light was bright. Do you want to live?"

"Yes." Wyndam asked him again, louder this time, "Do you want to live?"

"Yes."

"Good."

The blood's been washed away. The woman's body will be found at the bottom of the stairs any minute now. A tragic accident. He had been doing this for a very long time after all. None of them had fed from her, so there were no bite marks to give them away, she'll go to her grave untouched. Harper deserved that much. Now he had to get him through the next few days in one piece.

Breakfast was a muted affair. The household were in shock. Rebecca Harper was well-liked. Her funeral was to be held as soon as possible. Mr Wyndam's charge seemed particularly upset. She had only been playing with Rebecca the night before, after dinner. "Such a poor little thing," said Mrs Howitt. "I hope it won't give her nightmares." Wyndam looked darkly at the girl. "I'm sure it won't," he said sharply.

Mr Wyndam himself only just back, to find the house in mourning. "Of course we will only stay until the funeral. It is only right that we pay our respects, Mrs Howitt." Again the look he gave Hetty was far from friendly. Two days passed in a daze for James. The brilliant sunshine on the morning of Rebecca's funeral scorched his eyes. They were already raw from his tears. He had a burning in his veins that he didn't understand. Wyndam stuck close to him. He would have to be his teacher, his 'maker in kind'. He had yet to decide on Hetty's punishment. That would be a good start, not allowing her to correct her error by ending James. She would always be wondering if James would want revenge…The funeral would be difficult, but it was what would be expected. James could cry off from the church ceremony, the grief taking its toll. The burial would be a little easier. She was to be laid to rest on the family's own land, a suggestion from Wyndam, for such a valued member of staff. And conveniently it was not yet sacred ground. He had James in a vice-like grip at the graveside. He coped well with the Reverend's fine words, James on the other hand did not. He had his free hand over his face. The earth burned his hands as he threw it on her coffin, he didn't know why. Wyndam knew exactly why, that was consecrated earth, a new-born didn't handle religious rites well, to put it mildly. James had yet to feed. It was time to move him on before it became necessary. A little word to his employers…

"I'm sure you can't spare him, but I think a fresh start would be good for him, somewhere new. I'm sure I can find him something…appropriate."

Mrs Howitt said, "Of course, Mr Wyndam. We'll be sad to see him go but…" What things James had were packed up. The coach was sent for. The master of the house suspected something, but he knew James was an honest man, he loved his wife, and he would never have…That man…if he had not had to deal with him…

"A pleasure as always, Mrs Howitt. I just wish we left you in happier circumstances…" Wyndam was at his most charming, smile like a razor, behind the eyes calculating everything. It could be for the best. Shame about the woman though. He'd heard the faintest of beats in her at dinner that first night. No one else had, not that it would have stopped Hetty…but she could have come back for the woman. There was no need to rush. That was how 'mistakes' happened. Still, a new member for their 'family'.

James stood next to Wyndam, numb. For two years, he and Rebecca had lived and breathed together, and died together too. If he'd listened to her…she was dead because of him…she had slipped in his blood…the things he had seen in that place…Bec was good…the men with sticks…they twisted it…he was a bad person…it was his fault. And all the while a quiet voice in his head was saying, "She wanted you to live. You made your choice. Live."

"Where are Mr and Mrs Stephens?" Mrs Howitt asked.

"Gone. Already." Wyndam's face was taut.

"So sorry to see you leave early Mr Wyndam." Mrs Howitt moved away, back inside, leaving her husband standing on the steps. He found the nerve to open his mouth. "James, you will always have a place here, if things don't…" He was silenced by a look from Wyndam who was helping James onto a horse.

"He will be looked after, Mr Howitt." He stepped slowly towards him, and in a low voice said, "Tend that grave well. We may be back in the area, you never know…" The smile as he said it chilled Mr Howitt's blood. The hint of threat was enough. Mr Howitt nodded, beaten.

James was to ride along on horseback with Matthews, the messenger. Wyndam joined a sullen, fearful Hetty in the coach. She was keeping well out of James' way. She knew Wyndam had ended Mrs Stephens before the funeral. Mr Stephens only got as far as the estate boundary before he too was ended. She had been lucky so far, she didn't know when she would be forgiven. Normally he wouldn't mind 'excesses' so much, but she risked their exposure and that was forbidden. She didn't know the two new male vampires who were driving the coach, and that worried her. The coach was going to be a very uncomfortable ride back to London. The silence was unbearable to Hetty, who opened her mouth, only for Wyndam to point his finger at her.

"Not a word. I should stake you here and now. I never should have brought you, it was against my better judgement that I did. Actually, Andrew can deal with you." He knocked the ceiling of the coach. "Johnson, stop the coach." Hetty opened her mouth again, but the look he gave her made her shut it very quickly. "Oh you thought I would leave him in your delicate little paws? I don't think so Hetty. He has a brain; he'll take your head off when he comes to himself. I should probably let him." She gasped.

"You wanted her as a guardian because she saw the real you. You risked exposure, without thinking of the consequences. Better vampires than you have been ended for less. Remember that." He stepped out of the coach, and told Matthews to dismount. "You will go on with the coach Matthews. Johnson, turn for York. If she as much as looks the wrong way…" the look between them spoke volumes. Hetty had been leaning out the window of the coach. She pulled back inside. _Oh you've done it now girl,_ she thought. She could usually twist Andrew round her little finger but…

"I've sent word on ahead, Hetty. Don't expect a warm welcome." He slammed the coach door, almost catching Hetty's fingers. He waited for the coach to move off, before turning his horse towards James Harper. It was a very important moment in a newborn's life, that first step down the dark path. The pupils he tutored tended to last.

"Well Harper, we are for London. I haven't dealt with a newborn for a while, so I may be a bit rusty. Are you hungry?"

James looked at him, his eyes so red he could barely see him.

"I ate a little breakfast at the Hall, sir." He looked down again. Wyndam's face softened. He leaned forward.

"No, Harper. I meant, are you _hungry_?" James looked up at him, the smile on Wyndam's face was understanding. He knew what the burning in his veins meant. It was the end of his old life, and the beginning of a new one. His fate had been sealed. She had wanted him to live…

"Yes sir. I'm…hungry."


End file.
